Chuck vs Sarah and Bryce
by Doc in Oz
Summary: AU - Sarah and Bryce are con artists, and need the help of a computer nerd


_**Summary:**__ AU, Sarah and Bryce are con artists, and need the help of a computer nerd._

As of 26 June 2013, I don't own Chuck et al.

-o0o-

Nothing screams 'guilty lying sack of shit' like a boyfriend or husband tearfully pleading on TV for his wife's killer to come forward. Every cop in the world knows this.

Hell every mom and dad watching TV knows it.

Why else do you think the cops do it?

"Mister Bartowski, it may give us a lead. If the killer has any remorse over killing Miss Walker, your appeal may well be our best hope," said the homicide lieutenant across from me in a reasonable tone.

The sergeant beside her, nodded in encouraging agreement. I looked up at the woman, she reminded me a little of Sarah. At that moment, it hit me hard. She was dead. Sarah Walker was dead.

And it was my fault…..

My voice was thick and it sounded like I had a blocked nose, "I didn't kill her, if that's what you're thinking. I love… loved her," I paused to swallow and then looked at the woman who thought I was a murderer, "I'm not going on TV. If the killer has any remorse, as you say, then he'd have come forward already."

"Mister Bar… Chuck…." She began. The good cop bad cop routine might be cliché, but it probably works. Otherwise they wouldn't do it. Sergeant Mendes could play the brooding, silent type all too well. Turner got to play good cop. I guess the female cops usually do. "….Just….. just start at the beginning. Tell me what happened."

I laughed a bitter, almost sob. "The beginning, the beginning…. I met her two months ago, when she came into work, pretending she had phone problems..."

"Pretending?" she asked.

"….But the seeds were laid five, six years ago, I guess. You know I work at the Buy More, right?"

Lt Turner nodded. There was a folder on the desk, evidently my file. It probably contained copies of both of my speeding fines and a bunch of parking infringements for the Nerd Herder that Big Mike was too cheap to cover.

"There was a time I went to Stanford," I said with a slight smile of remembrance. "Did pretty well too. I was supposed to be semi-retired by now. Living off the proceeds of my software company. Well, that didn't happen. My best friend saw to that. He had me accused of cheating and I was kicked out."

I was suddenly dry and took a sip of the bottled water on the table. "Stole my girl too," I said as an afterthought. Then I took a breath and said, "After that I went back home, and got a job working the store where I'd worked summers."

I looked at her, and said, wanting her to understand, "That was five years ago. I crawled into a hole, and pulled the hole in with me. And then, two months ago, Sarah Walker walked into my life. She saved me."

"Mister Bartowski…."

I looked at her questioningly, "You know in the movies and TV, when the pretty girl walks in, and it all slow motion and wind machine?" I smiled, remembering our first meeting, "That's Sarah."

-o0o-

"Stop the presses! Who's that?"

They say when your life changes, you remember everything about that moment.

They're wrong. Some bits are crystal. And some are blurry. I remember Morgan making some movie quote to make me look at a pretty girl. Something he does about five times a day. It saves him from doing actual work.

Now, this is Morgan we are talking about, right? Morgan standards are skewed a little from the normal. Except for this time. This time, he was spot on.

Had I have looked up; I wouldn't have been caught singing that stupid Vicky Vale song. But I didn't, and I was.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," came the voice of a greatly amused angel.

I looked up, totally caught out. "That's from Batman," I blurted, for some reason that was the only thing that would come out.

She smiled at me, "Be..cause…. that makes it better, right?"

God, she was tall.

Oh God, she was a customer, and I'm staring at her like I'm a gold fish. "How…. How can I help you….."

"…Sarah," she supplied, obviously amused at her secret power to lobotomise nerds with a single smile.

"….Sarah. I'm Chuck…."

"And I'm Morgan," added Morgan.

Well, it wasn't like I actually had a shot with her.

"I'm here about this," she said as she hunted through her hand bag, holding up a slightly out of date cell phone. It must've been two or three years since I'd seen that model.

"Okay, that's the Intelcell, there's a screw at the back here that…." I said as I popped the battery cover off and found – yup, there it was, "….that comes loose. I'll just give that a quick turn, and there you go, good as new," I looked up and smiled for her once I had the cover back on it.

Her face changed to a beaming smile. "Wow, you geeks really _are_ good."

"Um, nerds, actually," corrected Morgan, indicating the overhead Nerd Herd sign, to differentiate us from the opposition Squad.

"Well, um, yes, nerds. It's a…. it's a trademark thing…" I tried to explain and then I realised I was still holding onto her phone, "here," I added as I thrust the phone in her direction as if it were suddenly scalding.

She waggled the phone a bit, bobbling it between thumb and forefinger of the other hand, looking at me seriously for about five seconds. "Ch… Chuck, wasn't it? Can I have a moment?" she asked, with a head tilt towards the plasma screen displays.

"Um… sure," I said uncertainly. I headed to the gap in the circular desk and Morgan thumped me on the shoulder with a huge grin and a bigger thumbs up.

"What's…. um, how can I help?" I asked her, falling back onto the safe turf of customer service.

"Chuck, I think you're the one who can help me. I'm…" and she looked around to see if anyone was watching us, "…I'm with the FBI," she whispered and she opened her hand bag to shown me a glimpse of her badge.

I honestly don't know what I was expecting, but it hadn't been this.

"We've," she continued quietly, "recovered a government laptop, that contains some very sensitive information. The computer was damaged by the thieves who stole it, and we need that data. We need the computer repaired."

"You guys are the government," I said, a little puzzled. "Surely you have whole departments for this sort of thing?"

Again, she checked around before grabbing my soul with her amazingly blue eyes, "I said 'sensitive?' Well, we're talking national security sensitive. My partner thinks that was how the …. Government department lost it to begin with. A mole. So at the moment, only my partner and I know where the laptop is, and we'd like to keep it that way. You repair it, on the quiet. Who'd believe a civilian from here," she gestured to the Buy More, "would be involved?"

"Um…. thanks….. I think."

She looked suddenly mortified, "Oh God, no, I didn't mean it like….. Chuck, sorry, government agencies like the one….. well, they don't think highly of civilians. This is good for you. Us. You'd be safe from the… the mole."

There was a word there, that kind of stuck out at me.

"Safe?" I asked, trying to not let my voice squeak like that.

She patted my hand, "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Annnd just then, I had a nasty thought. And the problem with having a nasty thought is; once you've had one, it's very hard to un-have it. So I had to check, "So, ah, how was the computer damaged by the thieves, and please feel free to use words like virus or malware."

She shook her head. "No, it was shot."

"Shot."

She nodded.

"Shot, shot? Like with a bullet 'shot.'"

She nodded again. This time with an added hint of amusement.

Somehow, my knees gave way, and I sat gracefully onto one of the faux La-Z-Boys conveniently located for just such an urgency.

"Look, I'll pick you up tonight. We'll show you the computer. What time do you finish?"

"Um, I've got late tonight. Nine o'clock. Nine thirty once we get everything done."

"Well," she smiled at me, "I'll see you at nine thirty. You have a look at the computer, tell me what you think." She turned to walk away, and then said in a normal conversational tone, "I'll see you after work, Chuck."

I won't say she flounced, but heads did turn as she walked to the front door.

And then those heads whipped back around to stare at me.

"Dude!"

"It's good to be the king."

"Bartowski gets all the hot wimin."

The dunderbolt duo of Jeff and Lester tried to move surreptitiously into ear shot, a feat stymied somewhat by Jeff tripping over nothing that I could see, and Lester scowling and hissing, "Jeff-er-eee!" rather more along the lines of an exasperated housewife than a co-worker.

Morgan suddenly appeared, and with his arms casually folded, leant up against the end of the one of the DVD aisles (Kids and animation) and asked, "Sooo?"

"Umm," was all I could say.

"She'll _see_ you after work, huh?" Morgan advanced on me, with a huge grin.

"Morgan, it's not….." I began, and then realised, I wasn't sure what it was. And after hours, off book repairs were one of Big Mikes pet loathes.

It sure as shit wasn't a date. It was government business.

But I couldn't say that.

'Keep it safe' kind of implied 'keep it secret.' My head hurt. This was like one of those improbable TV shows where an ordinary guy ends up being mixed up in the spy world.

It wasn't a date. And it wasn't work.

What do I say?

"… actually, I'm not sure what it is."

"But you're _seeing_ her after work."

"Morgan, she's an FBI agent, and she wants me to repair a stolen government computer that was shot by enemy agents."

See? When you say it like that, it sounds a little farfetched.

"Dude!" smiled Morgan, "she asked you on a date!"

"Morgan, no, you're not…"

"So, where you going to take her? The pier, right? Perfect place for a first date."

"…listening….. I don't know. And I don't why I bother." And I then said a bit louder, "She asked me. We'll probably go to some secret government underground bunker….."

"I've got one of those."

"Thanks Jeff, maybe we can use it some time." I said, adding under my breath, _'Not even with a HAZMAT suit and a forty four gallon drum of bleach.'_

"Oh, and if you have one of those awkward pauses during the witty repartee," suggested Morgan, "ask her the sandwich question. Always works," he concluded despite my very clear memories of exactly the opposite happening every time he'd tried it.

All in all, it was a rather weird day.

-o0o-

I ate dinner at sevenish. I reheated some of Ellie's left-over lasagne in the break room microwave. The microwave was older that the TV that made your eye water as the image rolled slowly up, ever since Skip fiddled with the vertical hold.

And as I'm eating and thinking what the hell was going to happen this evening, my phone rang. It was my sister, the aforementioned Ellie.

'_Chuck!'_ came her voice. I really need to learn to hold the phone further away when she does that, _'When were you going to tell me you had a date?'_

"Hi Ellie. Love you too. Let me guess, you've been talking to Morgan, haven't you?"

'_Texted. You know I blocked his calls. Yes. Now, the date? Who is she? Is she nice? When do I get to meet her?'_

I should have expected the Spanish Inquisition. I really should have.

I sighed, "One, it's not a date. Iiiiitzzz kind of complicated. Work related. Two, her name is Sarah and three, I forget the rest."

The laminate surface of the table was nice and cool on my forehead.

'_Chuck, God you're hopeless. Tell me what you're planning.'_

I groaned into the desk. It didn't really help. "El, honestly, it not a date. She's getting me to look at a computer. That's all."

'_You could get Morgan to… what am I thinking. I was going to say get Morgan to go home and pick you out something nice to wear on the date, but that would mean Morgan alone in our place and I don't want to burn another pillow.'_

I'll explain the pillow flambé later. For the moment, I'll say this, it involves a high school prom and a bicycle.

'_Could you go on a fake install, and get something from home?'_

"El….." I realised there was no point. She wasn't listening. "I'll….. I'll see what I can do."

'_Chuck,'_ she said with that warning tone of hers.

"Eleanore Faye Bartowski, it is _not_ a date…."

'_Well, it's not going to be with that attitude. Be yourself. Do _not_ under any circumstances even mention Jill's name….'_

"Ellie, I don't mention her all the….."

'…_.five times during your birthday party Chuck, and most importantly….'_

Here it comes.

'… _do _not_ go off on tangents about some film no one else has ever seen.'_

"Ellie, I don't do that…."

'_Blücher.'_

I fought the urge. I really did. After clearing my throat, I said "That wasn't fair."

'_Proves my point.'_

"I hate you, and I'll see you when I get home."

'_Be yourself! No Jill! No quotes, and see if you can wear something nice!'_

"G'night sis."

'_Night Chuck. I'll see you when I get home.'_

I rested my forehead on the table again. It wasn't as cool this time.

-o0o-

When we closed the shop, cashed up and I wrote up the shift. Morgan, who was supposed to have finished some four hours earlier, was still hanging around.

He can be remarkably resistant to hints that fall short of physical violence.

I was suddenly aware that pretty much all of the staff were watching me.

"Guy's, it's not a date. I'm just going to look at a computer."

"Ram that hard-drive, Bartowski."

"Jeff…. Just… urgh. Go home. All of you. I think we're done."

Suddenly, I was nervous. Should I leave by the back dock? Was she waiting at the front? Would she even be there? Why would she be there anyway? I'm just a Nerd Herder. Surely the FBI can get a computer fixed with their own guys. It was all a set up. Why would a gir… a woman like her ask for me?

I picked my repair kit up, telling myself that nothing would happen, and I'd spend the night at home. I could even have a look at the glitch in my Media Centre that'd been bugging me.

She was waiting for me out the front. I saw her when I re-locked the doors after Fernando and Bunny left. She gave me a smile and a small wave.

I guess there was no escape. I turned the lights out, and met her in the lot.

"Hi," I said. Witty repartee, that's me.

"Hi, ready to go?"

I hefted my kit, "Yeah, I guess. Never patched a bullet hole before. My sister has, but not… never mind. Okay, you lead and I'll follow in the…."

"It's okay, Chuck. You can ride with me. I can bring you back here, or take you home if you want once you're done."

"Um…"

She pressed a button on her key fob, and something expensive and German simultaneously went, 'bip bip' and 'thunk.'

"What, don't you trust me?"

Again, I seemed to have amused her. Great. I really need to stop doing that..

"Um…."

"Come on, it's okay."

I should learn to say something slightly more articulate than, "Um."

-o0o-

She drove.

I sat in the one and only usable passenger seat, the rear seat evidently designed for passengers with no legs, clutching my repair kit like a fifties housewife clutching her handbag.

After what felt like a lifetime at warp factor seven, she pulled into a concierged long term hotel. The FBI must either pay well, or be picking up the tab.

I was reminded of that Charlie Sheen send up of _Top Gun_. As the pilots took their masks off after a carrier landing, their faces were still in the shape of the mask.

Right, rule number two, no movie references. Must stop tangenting off about movies.

But Sarah's Porsche coming to a stop was kinda like that.

She smiled at me, "Ready?"

"Um…"

"Oh, my partner, Br..uce was supposed to here tonight, but he's having to report to the general. So it'll be just us."

"Um."

We rode up to her floor, and she let us into her room.

I think the word I'm looking for is 'green.'

"Sorry," she grimaced, "it's a bit…. green."

That was probably the moment I knew I'd fallen for her.

To borrow a phrase from those police crime scene shows, the laptop had been shot, a through and through.

To prove my point, I held it up and looked at her through the hole.

"Yes, you're very observant. It's been shot."

"Yeah, I noticed that. Well, let's have a look-see."

I picked up my kit, and opening it, I judged the base of the laptop.

"Chuck, will you be okay if I get changed?"

"Mmm?" I asked as I worked on removing the battery and base plate.

"Sorry, I've been on the go most of the day. Will you be okay here, while I get changed?"

"Um…." For God's sake Chuck, say something better than that! "Sure. This is gonna take me a while."

I'm pretty sure she could use that smile to power a city. She picked up a loose wad of clothes and headed through the only other door, which revealed itself as the bathroom.

When you are operating on something with fiddly little screws and teeny tiny little connections, its best to not think about the beautiful woman standing naked under the shower in the next room that she was obviously having. Personally speaking, I discovered that it was slightly distracting.

Laptop. Laptop that's been shot. Focus on that, Chuck. Someone shot an innocent laptop. So, stop thinking about hot water, cascading over and beading onto warm, healthy bare skin.

With a degree of difficulty that seemed to be set at approximately seven point nine, none of which was actually anything to do with the computer, I managed to remove the base, and the battery. The bullet had done a number on the mother board. And two of the daughter boards. And the hard drive. On the outer part of the hard drive's casing, it stopped being casing, and became a jagged hole.

And then I realised, _two_ daughter boards? There was some serious hardware in here. Was this one of Roarke's next gen platforms? The seven? I whistled softly in amazement. The seven wasn't supposed to be out yet. Hell, it wasn't even supposed to be off the paper yet. Had it not have been shot, this thing would have been beautiful.

The bathroom door opened, steam and the smell of warm girl and shampoo came out with her. She'd changed into grey sweat pants and an orange tank top advertising some So-Cal, Lo-Cal Fro-yo shop.

She looked at me with a smirk, and said, "Usually guys whistle _after_ I come into the room. Not before I open the door."

I blinked. Eventually I breathed. And then I realised I was staring, and most likely drooling into the open guts of the computer that very likely didn't react well to being drooled on. "A situation I will not allow to happen again, I can assure you. Um…. This computer…."

"Yes, I heard" she said dryly. "Wow. You really are a gee….. a nerd, aren't you."

"Yeah, I get that a lot for some reason."

She came up beside me, and asked, "May I?" before she peered through the magnifier lamp I was using. Her upper arm and shoulder pressing companionably against mine. Her shampoo scent filled my world.

She smiled up at me, and said "Thanks," and then moved aside, allowing me to work.

With the damage done by the bullet hole, it took me a good thirty minutes to remove the hard drive from the chassis. The jagged edges of the most likely mortal wound to the hard drive dug into and clung to the mother and daughter boards. Also my fingers, too.

With physical damage perforating the disk, I was hesitant to plug the drive into my normal diagnostic.

"Okay, I think this is the part where I say, 'There's your problem.'"

"But you can recover the data, 'cause you're just that good," she said.

I looked at her, and grinned, "You bank a lot on that elfin charm of yours, don't you?"

She grinned back, and batted her eyelashes at me, said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Doesn't blinking like that make you sick?"

She leant up beside me again and said, "Yeah, so don't make me do it again."

With the care normally associated with a movie scene where the cops defuse a bomb, I opened up the casing of the drive.

I glanced at her for a moment, and then said as I studied the disc through the magnifier, "Well, the good news is I can probably recover a fair part of the disc."

She straightened up, and said, "If there's good news, then tradition dictates that there's bad news."

I nodded, "The bad news is I need to take it into the shop."

"Chuck," she said sadly, "we can't do that. Can you bring what you need here?"

I tried explaining to her, "Sarah, with the physical damage like that," I pointed into the magnifier lamp, "if we spin the drive up, the whole disc will tear itself to shreds. I need the Centurion two ten… it's a reader that…. instead of the disc spinning, the magnetic head moves instead."

"Could you…."

"Sarah, it's the size of a horse. And it's bolted to the ground inside the cage."

She stayed quiet for a moment.

"Sarah, if we do this wrong, the disc is going to frag. Literally fragment," I said as my hands did a silent 'boom!' movement.

She nodded, deep in thought.

After a moment, she asked, "Can you… could you recover _anything_ without out the …."

"Centurion," I supplied and shrugged, "It's possible, I _might_ get something in the flash memory," I indicated the processor on daughter two. "If that's what that is. Sarah, where did this come from? I think I can see what this is supposed to be, but there are …. There's stuff here I've never even heard of."

She said, a little distractedly, "Its clas….. the agency this came from has links to the military. The hardware is next generation. As you've probably guessed."

"Sarah, in the wrong hands…. This is about as advanced as an iPod would have been in nineteen ninety five. The technology was sort of there. MP3 was invented in the early nineties. So it could have happened."

I shook my head, "But this….. this is like you've stepped out of your TARDIS, bearing a computer from a few years in the future."

She looked at me with that smile, the same one girls gave me all though high school, "TARDIS is a time machine, right?"

"Yeah. But I don't have what I need here."

She smiled brightly, "Well, you can bring it tomorrow."

"Tomor…."

"Tomorrow," she confirmed. "Chuck, this is important. And we need to keep it secret. Bring what you need, and you can come over and work on it tomorrow," she said as if there was no other alternative.

-o0o-

She pulled up beside the red and white little Nerd Herder, performing her patented carrier landing and came to a complete, if sudden, stop.

"What time will I see you tomorrow, Chuck?" she asked.

I blinked. It sounded so normal. The question was, the reason for the question wasn't. But that did remind me….

"Oh, um… this is a little awkward, but my friends and my sister think I've been on a date with you…. "

To my utter amazement, she smiled hugely. "Chuck, that's brilliant!"

"Um…"

"That would be the perfect cover, we're dating. I love it!"

"… Sarah… I… I don't like lying to my family. Or my friends."

"Chuck, are you saying you _don't _want to go out with me?" she asked with an exaggerated pout as she batted her eyes at me again.

I laughed. "You'll make yourself sick doing that."

She stopped pouting and blinked to clear herself. "I know. Don't let me do that again."

"Sarah…."

"Chuck," she spoke over the top of me, "I know that this isn't normal for you. The fact that you hate lying to your family and friends shows what a great guy you are. But this is important. What we're doing is important too. We need to keep this computer secret, and you safe."

I sat still for a moment, and then looked at her, "Am I in danger? Is my family in danger?" I asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "As I said, Bruce and I are the only ones who currently know where the computer is. You too. Everyone else thinks we're still in Washington. But we have to be careful. Okay?"

I nodded, and opened the door to get out. I felt her hand on my arm, and looked back at her as she said, "Chuck, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I agreed.

-o0o-

It was after midnight when I got home.

Ellie was waiting for me. I **really** needed to learn to expect the Spanish Inquisition. At least I had the comfy chair while my sister asked about my night.

That night, I dreamt about Stanford again. Again, Bryce betrayed me. I still don't know why. I was more angry in my dream at Bryce over the cheating accusation rather than him stealing Jill.

Maybe Ellie was right. She'd told me when I came home with my tail between my legs, that if Jill was so ready to drop me and pick up with Bryce, then she can't have been much of a girlfriend. At the time, I'd defended Jill. I still did, up until….

Until I met Sarah.

This was stupid. I can't fall in love that quickly. And she's…. she a gorgeous, sophisticated federal agent. I've seen Criminal Minds. She must Lear jet all over the country.

She must meet far more interesting people than me.

But the image of her, fresh from the shower, just dressed in a tank and sweats. It made her seem so … so normal. And her smile….. Jeez. I couldn't keep that image out of my head. She was just leaning up beside me, and smiling. Smiling as if she was proud of me.

And her personal space bubble was much smaller than mine, it seemed. But it seemed I was okay with that. I was okay with her leaning up beside me, and smiling at me.

I was okay with her using me to fix a computer. I mean, yes, she was using me….

But she was nice about it. Her smile, her amusement, almost everything about her seemed …..natural.

Right. She felt right.

I realised in my sleep, that I would do just about anything for her.


End file.
